


grab my hand please, i'm drowning

by orphan_account



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, BoyxBoy, Death, Gay, I love this musical, M/M, Really Very Sad, Sad, Sadness, Tears, Tree Bros, Treebros, alanabeck, angsty, connormurphy, cynthiamurphy, dearevanhansen, descriptive, evanandconnor, evanhansen, it's too much, jaredkleinman, larrymurphy, reallyangsty, why am i here, zoemurphy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: don't let go, your hand is warm





	1. Chapter 1

**Evan**

This old, creaky swing sends chills all throughout my fragile bones. I can see my breath swirl in front of my face, like cigarette smoke, and oh, how beautiful it was; seeing the breath in front of your face, knowing you're existing.

My eyes pan up to the sky, which shines a deep shade of iridescent blue, with flicks of violet and periwinkle and purple and it's nice to look at. My pale, skeleton skin feels as if it was going to slide off, like a wilted rose petal drifting to the floor. Just like the thoughts crashing into my mind it's as if I can hear the water crashing into the shore, miles away, leaving kisses on the shore yet being rejected every time. Like sunlight slicing through my skin, cold injects into my body, not quite warm, but quite comforting, as well.

As my thoughts swirl around even more, I realize; it's a storm of thoughts, no, it's a hurricane, it's a tornado, it's a typhoon; but it isn't any of those. It's not a typhoon, it's a longing for someone to find me useful. I need that in my life, my hollow shell of a fragile box. 

Like a dinosaur, it's as if I am forgotten but with a lot to give.

I am at the park.

My feet mindlessly kick against the pavement, and I think about how the pavement can't feel any pain from the kicks I give. I am like the pavement. Each kick, each punch has become like static to me, I am drowning in this static, this static static static staticstaticstaticstatic and there is no way out. Like the pavement, I am always stepped all over, and no one pays attention as I cry out in undistinguishable pain because it's this everyday thing that happens. But unlike the pavement, I notice all this.

I watch with solemn painted on my face as people pass by me. Some on their phones, some in a hurry, none bothering to sneak a glance at me. This swing set is the only thing I have that is keeping me grounded. If I get up, if I get up to join the people that are walking I'll lose myself in a crowd that doesn't notice. My soul will scream as it rushes to wrap itself around my hollow body, porcelain bones, and if I lose myself in a crowd like this, will I be able to find myself again?

So I sit on the swing set.

I decide to be a bystander of this train wreck of scattered minds.

My orange-brownish hair floats gently in the wind, trying to scream for freedom but they are stuck, implanted in my skull. My eyes, with dark bags underneath, glow a dull shade of chocolate, probably looking dull and lifeless. My lips, chapped and pink; and I refuse to open them in fear of my stutter, or the wrong words drifting out of my mouth and being carried along the breeze. My cheeks are sunken in and pale, yet a rosy red color dusts them very faintly. My hands fiddle with the helm of my collared striped blue shirt, a thing I had grown so used to, due to my anxiety.

My neck cranes up to the sky once again, and this time, it's grown a swirl of orange and red, a marble in disguise, a pattern only I am honored to see.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and I grin.

I am here, today.

I am here.

As I look up at the sky, I wonder, Why don't I go join the clouds? Floating in harmony, drifting to wherever we please.

And then I realize - it's because this swing set has me grounded to earth.

_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan's day at school gets pretty bad, but a pretty boy can make it pretty good.

**Evan**

The clouds churn a dark gray as my feet stumble along the concrete as I walk to school. The air is a bitter kiss on my lips. It’s like snowflakes rest on my eyelashes, cold, cold, cold and not disappearing. There are no more swirling colors, no more warmth. It's just cold. Cold. 

I walk along the road, lined with beautiful trees. Trees are always beautiful, they give us life and they save us and they give and give and give with no limits and they shower us with unending beauty. I'm always thankful for trees. 

There is a feeling lurching in my gut as I mindlessly stroll down the path, hands in my jean pockets.

Loneliness.

It churns in my stomach, a whirl of color. Desperation claws at me as pain drips down from the crying clouds. It is eating me away like I am its last meal, and I am hiding in this small box, there is no way out. I can try to kick the sides open but no, no, it will never work. I am stuck. I am stuck as I walk. I am stuck and stuck, unbeknownst to the people that shiver in the rain. The worst part; I'm claustrophobic.

No, I don't have any friends. It's just another day in the life of Anxiety Kid™. I'm never good with people, I almost always stutter and stumble with words. I'm socially awkward and always vulnerable to frequent panic attacks. So before someone approaches me, I put my walls back up and run. I just... run. Because I've learned to slam on the brake, before I even turn the key. I'm never particularly "confident", more like "awkward". 

I do have one person who qualifies as a friend, although he identifies himself as a "family friend". His name is Jared Kleinman, and he's well... he's sort of a butthole (swearing is bad for the soul).  He has this weird thing with bathbombs, and is always there for me to talk to. He, um, he wears glasses... and he has brunette hair, and he's sort of a tease.

There’s Alana Beck. She’s a really great friend. Although we don’t always talk, she’s always there to lend a hand. And she also doesn’t think of me as a freak. Bonus points.

And then there's... and then there's Zoe Murphy, who is the best of the best.

She's so utterly and unfathomably gorgeous. She was in jazz band once, and I was going to compliment her, but of course, nerves got the best of me and I backed out at the last second. With long brunette locks, she's so pretty, and I'm just... me. Which means there's a huge chance she won't like me. There's an even bigger chance she won't return my big fat crush I have on her. I also think she has a brother, but, that’s not important.

Then there's my mom, Heidi Hansen. She's my light in the darkness, the person that grounds me to earth other than that swing set. She fights off my demons and saves me in the early hours, if I ever break down. But, she almost never had time for me. She works as a nurse. I'm used to staying by myself at home, alone.

Loneliness. 

I know I already mentioned that word before but it’s always so real. It’s all just so… real.

I can recall countless nights of me lying in bed, shivering from cold and feeling warm tears slip down my cheeks, all while my mom works the night shift.

I can recall shaky fingers wrapped around my phone as I call someone, anyone, but no one picks up. I see myself huddled in the bathroom, sobbing.

Yep, story of my life.

Okay, but what I don’t get is that people with anxiety or social anxiety are always considered “shy and quiet”. But, we aren’t. Just because we don’t talk to people doesn’t mean we’re shy. We live, alone together, in fear of people grabbing our words and judging us based on them.

Because, isn’t that how it works?

It’s always… it always happens like this. In dreams or in figurative reality, this everyday life feels like I am being grabbed by the hair and being slammed and slammed and slammed into the pavement. (Please excuse all my pavement metaphors and similes, it is just that an anxiety-ridden kid like me finds the weirdest things the most relatable.)

Alright, back to reality.

My eyes flicker all over the street. It’s not that crowded (thankfully). Sometimes, I see kids from my school, and that causes my gaze to drop to the ground and walk faster. My feet scuff against the sidewalk, and I kick rocks as I trot to the school. I left my backpack in the library, and of course, me being me, I didn’t reach out to someone for the homework.

I am interrupted from my involuntary daze when someone taps my shoulder. Startled, I flinch and whirl around, coming face to face with none other than Alana Beck.

“Hi, Evan!” she chirps, smiling widely.

Oh, no, I’m trapped. Great. I’m being forced to talk with someone.

“H-Hi,” I mumble, staring down at my hands and twisting my fingers with each other repeatedly.

Like pools, Alana’s eyes grow bigger. “Your arm! Why do you have a cast?” she asks, eyes scanning my cast on my left arm, which I instinctively hide behind my back.

Right. I have a cast on my left arm.

“N-Nothing. I – I mean, well, um, uh, obviously something happened. I g-guess I, uh, fell out of a t-tree?” I stutter. Alana’s brown irises try to find my chocolate ones, but my mind tells me to not look her in the eye. (I hate eye contact, by the way.)

Alana’s face screws up. “Huh. And no one signed it yet.”

My face lights up, and I reach in my pocket for a Sharpie. “Do you, uh, do you wanna - ?”

Alana cuts me off. “That’s really sad that no one signed it. I’ll be seeing you later, Evan! Actually, do you wanna walk with me?”

My face falls, and I drop the Sharpie that I had been pulling out back into my pocket. Disappointment tears at my stomach, and the demons are becoming more visible. Of course she didn’t want to sign my cast.

“A-Actually, I’m, uh, I’m better off walking on my own, actually.” I mutter, taking a step backwards and almost falling off the sidewalk.

Alana’s eyebrows furrow, and she slowly nods her head. “Understandable! I like a little quiet time, too. It makes you get ideas!”

“Yeah. Ideas.” I say nervously, before giving her a little wave. Before she has a chance to wave back, I spin on my heel, and begin to walk at a faster pace than normal.

The demons are fully visible now, and the dark thoughts race in my head. Am I that awkward? Alana didn’t want to sign my cast. Who will?

Evan Tip of the Day: Don’t let your hopes get too high, or else when they crash, the damage will be great.

__

School is the same as always. I sit down, I don’t pay attention, I doodle, then I go on my merry way to another classroom and relive the cycle.

This day, the cherry on top was added.

This day, I was getting bullied.

Now, it’s not like it was a normal thing. I always got bullied. Most of them ended up with a teacher catching the bullies. But this day, it was different.

It was more violent.

Maybe that’s how I found myself hiding in a random locker.

My breathing is heavy and labored, like the waves heavily crashing on the sand. Like snowfall, tears cascade down my face, a salty kiss on my tongue. My heat hurts like it’s a drum being pounded on, over and over. It’s all too much.

Why is it too much?

Like fireworks, blood continues shooting from my nose.

There is pounding on the locker door, like pound pound pound pound poundpoundpoundpoundpound and it’s a lot to take in and I might be having a panic attack and they’re outside oh god oh god oh god they’re outside of the locker I can hear them, Evan get a grip on yourself, Evan –

“I can hear your heavy little breathing, F-F-Freak!” one of the school bullies, Aidan, growls, mimicking my stutter. Another pound echoes throughout the locker, making me whimper and sink down to the floor.

I am a book, one that looks so uninteresting. I am a book, one that is never opened. I am a book, one that gets slammed to the floor and stepped on without a care. I am a book, one that is left forgotten.

Am I a book, or pavement, in this situation?

Maybe a little bit of both.

Yes, I have taken a punch or two from Aidan but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. It was just his play on words, the way they slid off his tongue, the way anger and hatred sparked in his eyes like a flame. He mimicks me, calls me names, and each word hits me like a brick on my foot.

Will the pain ever even stop?

I know I’m probably not supposed to do this, but I yell out, “Just leave me alone!”

There is a brief, melancholic silence.

Did I really do it? Is Aidan gone?

Then the locker door opens.

Aidan is there. With a sneering face, and my stomach drops.

“Hey, Hansen. Go kill yourself, loser. It’d make one less freak in the world.”

_

I lay here, my eyes tired and droopy, blood still dripping from my nose, and my body aching. No one’s come to get me yet. Aidan beat me up, and I believe I’m half-dead.

Can life have a time machine? Because I want to go back, back to the days when a smile was the prettiest emotion, not the prettiest disguise.

_

“Woah, dude. You look like you got beat up.”

I roll my eyes. “I did get beat up, Jared.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the nurse’s office?”

I look down at my milk. (I look down a lot.) “No, I’m fine.”

“Dude, you look like you have seventeen bruises on your face alone.” Jared points out, but I wave the matter away.

“Like I said, I’m fine.”

“Is today opposite day? Because you sure don’t look fine.”

“C-Can we just drop it?” I sigh. Because I really am fine, a little bruise didn’t hurt anyone. The only bad thing out of this is that my mom will not be stoked about bruises littering my doll body like scars.

Jared shrugs. “Whatever you say, dude,” he mumbles, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose.

I sigh. (Just like I look down a lot, I sigh a lot. I inhale desire and exhale disappointment. Oh god, I sound emo.) “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

Jared waves me off with his fork. “Go ahead. Be quick, or I’ll eat your food.”

I ignore Jared and stand up. I haven’t had the chance to look at myself in the mirror anytime soon, although I’m frightened to. I know that whatever I see in the mirror will make me wince, or cringe, or both. I bruise easily, so being beaten up won’t be good.

__

I was right.

So was Jared.

It really did look like I had seventeen bruises on my face alone.

My skin was a purplish hue that looked like the color of dawn. Well, not all of my skin was purple. My cheeks were, though. Remnants of dried blood remained on my face, under my nose. My eyes looked lifeless. My lip was bleeding a little. I looked like I died, rose up from the dead, and died again.

I splash water on my face frantically. If any teacher saw me like this, they’d call my mom, and when my mom comes then I’ll be in so much trouble and she’ll be so concerned and then Aidan will get in trouble which’ll make him beat me up more and oh god Evan stop hyperventilating –

The bathroom door opens.

I spin my head towards whoever it was. Maybe it was Aidan, maybe it was a teacher. Whoever it was, I just didn’t want them to mistake me for a zombie.

But, no.

I didn’t know who entered the bathroom.

But he looked just as tired as I was.

Just from the way he held himself up, the way he looked, I could tell he was pavement, too. I could tell he was a unopened book, too. I can tell that his pages are tattered and torn and broken. I can tell he’s stepped all over and forgotten, too.

Maybe that’s why I find myself staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it isn't that long although I want it to be, but that's alright! Leave thoughts on the story, please :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is the pretty boy really what he seems?

**Evan**

Brown.

The color of his eyes.

His tired orbs meet my dull ones.

And I take a second to take in his features.

He’s quite pale, and quite skinny, as if animals eat at his body. Dark bags lay under his eyes. His lips are chapped but a rosy shade of pink.

We are one and the same.

It’s scary, even; the fact that me and this boy are exactly alike.

Well, not really.

He has dark brown hair that waves down to brush the tips of his broad shoulders. His fingernails are painted black.

But that’s the only thing that makes us different.

I realize that I’m still staring.

I sputter a little and avert my eyes, feeling my heart thump in my chest.

Unfortunately, the boy caught me staring.

The boy furrows his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth turning down in an intimidating way. I see his fists close up. He takes a step forward, and I swear I could feel myself shaking. I made this awkward, didn’t I?

“What are you staring at?” the boy growls, grabbing my right arm and making me face him.

This boy is not what I imagined.

From what I saw of him, he looked like the quiet type. (Maybe like me.) He looked… fragile. I thought I could maybe get to know him better. But I guess that’s not what he had in mind, because here he was, all up in my face. He’s the aggressive type, from what I see.

“I… n-nothing,” I squeak, trying to squirm out of his iron grip.

“You freak!” the boy hisses, taking another step towards me. Ouch, that word he just called me hurt. It leaves a toxic feeling in my mouth, resting upon my taste buds.

“I… what?” I squeak again. Wow, I’m really good at pushing people’s buttons.

“What? Do you not have anything to say?” the boy growls again, his volume growing increasingly loud. I search his eyes, for any emotion.

I see… fear.

…Fear?

But why?

Why is he scared? He’s the one attacking me.

There is no hint of hatred or disgust in his eyes. Just… fear. Fear, and anger.

My own fear bubbles in my stomach.

“You’re a fucking freak!” the boy yells, pushing me to the cold floor.

I should be crying, I should be running to a teacher, I should be angry.

But for some weird reason, I’m not frightened by this man.

In fact, what I feel is… sympathy.

My eyes fixated on a spot on the floor, I slowly stand up.

“You’re not scared, huh?” The boy sneers, his breathing ragged and heavy. He takes a few steps backwards. Suddenly, his face morphs into one of panic. It was so quick, so sudden, and so unexpected I let out a gasp. His face wore a scared expression, like he was a kid found stealing money. It was like he just realized what he’d done – push a scrawny, innocent teen to the floor.

There is a knock on the door.

The boy’s head whips towards the door.

“Connor, what are you doing in there?” a girl’s voice calls out through the door, frantic. She actually sounds familiar.

“Nothing, Zoe! Go away and mind your own business!” The boy, whose name is apparently Connor, shoots back.

Zoe?

Zoe Murphy.

I scramble up and open the door, my cheeks flushed a bright red.

And there, in all her glory, stands Zoe Murphy.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Zoe apologizes. “I just assumed that it was just my brother in there!”

Realization hits me like a truck.

“Wait, Connor is your brother?” I say dumbly. I hear a scoff from behind me, which is Connor.

Zoe flashes a confused smile. “Uh, yeah. Did you not know?”

I look down in embarrassment and also from the fact that Zoe Murphy just smiled. At. Me.

“I didn’t know, actually.”

“Ah. Well, um, your name is Evan, right?” Zoe questions, bending down to meet my eyes, which are staring at my feet.

I glance at her. “Yeah, E-Evan.”

Zoe grins and holds out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Zoe.”

Butterflies swirl in my stomach like a tornado.

“I know.” I mutter dumbly. (Gosh, I do everything dumbly these days.)

Zoe raises an eyebrow. “I guess I’m that popular, huh?” she chuckles.

I laugh quietly, but I’m dying inside.

“So, Evan. What did my psycho brother do to you?”

“Hey!” Connor calls out from inside the bathroom.

“Shut up!” Zoe fires back.

I clear my throat. “Well, he, um, um, uh… he, um…”

I nervously turn around, and I lock eyes with Connor.

Broken.

That’s all I see from him.

He’s broken.

But he’s fixable.

So I guess this is step one.

I turn back to Zoe. “He didn’t do anything.”

I hear an audible gasp from Connor, and I wince.

Zoe crosses her arms in an intimidating manner. “Really?”

I cough a little. “Y-Yes, really.”

“Then what was that large thud I heard? And the yelling?”

I bite my lip. I need to think of something, fast.

“He just… he slipped and fell, and screamed in pain… and, uh, yeah.”

Zoe eyeballed me for a second, and it felt like being stared down by your mother. She was fierce, fiery, and overall, really, really cute. (Zoe was, not your mother.)

Finally, Zoe shrugs and uncrosses her arms, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “Fine, you win.” She then looks over my shoulder. “See ya after school, Con!”

“Whatever.” Was Connor’s attempt at a goodbye. I internally winced at this sibling relationship. Because from what I had been seeing, it wasn’t good.

Zoe spins around and walked away, and my heart continued to pound over and over again, and my lungs felt like they were on fire.

The door closes.

A light tap is felt on my shoulder, and I flinch and turn around. Connor is obviously there, and his facial expressions looks as if they softened. “Hey.”

I shift my weight awkwardly to my other foot. “Hi.”

Connor coughs. “Er, thanks. I guess. At least this time, I didn’t get a yelling from my sister.”

“Uh, who’s the older sibling?”

“I’m older. It may seem like she’s more dominant, but she isn’t. She only acts like that to provoke me. A lot of… stuff goes on at home.”

I decide to not question him. So I nod. “Yeah. About the lying for you thing I just did, it’s really no p-problem.”

Connor cocks his head. “Why did you do it?”

This is the question I’d been meaning to avoid.

“I just… y’know…”

How do I tell this boy I just met that I lied for him because I wanted to fix him and glue together his broken pieces?

Connor seems to read my mind, because he shrugs. “It’s alright, you don’t have to answer. Kindness seems complicated.”

I laugh a little, looking into Connor’s brown eyes.

Connor laughs a little as well. “Hey, uh, can I sign your cast?”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You, uh, you really…?”

Connor grins a little. “Yeah. Do you have a sharpie?”

I nod a little too fast and fish in my pocket for the Sharpie. After, I hand it to him. Then, in big bold letters, Connor writes his name, covering half of the cast.

I giggle, taking the Sharpie back.

“Hey, I’ll see you around, ‘kay?” Connor says, beginning to walk toward the door.

“Yeah.” I reply, suddenly very giddy.

Connor disappears out the door.

I’m about to leave, too, when something strikes me.

I had held eye contact with Connor the entire time.

But the thing is, I hated eye contact.

__

“So, what, you’re like, gay for Connor Murphy?”

 

I gasp and spin around to Jared, who is staring at me with a knowing smirk on his face.

 

I grimace at him. “No! Of course not!”

 

Jared laughs. “Defensive, aren’t ya?”

 

I frown and continue walking down the street.

 

I still have the rush of adrenaline I had felt when talking to Connor. If I had been in my right mind, I would’ve left the conversation as quickly as possible while staring at my feet. But when talking to Connor, I just felt so, so… in place. I felt comfortable. That had to be the first conversation I had with someone while feeling comfortable. How did Connor do this? Especially because he was aggressive.

 

Jared catches up to me, laying a hand on my shoulder. “But, really, be careful. Connor Murphy is batshit out of his mind. He’s the one who threw a printer at Mrs. G in the second grade! Just because he wasn’t the line leader!”

 

I shake my mind. “No, he seemed… nice.”

 

“He has surreal anger issues, Evan. He beats people up. He’s aggressive. I heard he even hits Zoe Murphy at home!”

 

I flinch at that.

 

He abuses his sister at home?

 

He did mention that a lot of stuff goes on at his home. Could this be what he was talking about?

 

Okay, so he’s dangerous. He has a lot of potential to land me in the hospital. He has a lot of potential to be a druggie. He has a lot of potential to go to jail.

 

So why am I not afraid?

 

“Well, the fact that he hits Zoe isn’t right. Maybe I could talk to him about it.” I chirp, kicking at a flat rock that is in front of my toe.

 

Jared scoffs in disbelief. “Knowing you, you would be scared out of your mind! Are you crazy? Who are you and what have you done with Evan?”

 

I shake my head, grinning. “N-No, I actually just want to help him out.”

 

Jared rolls his eyes. “Your call, dude. But I won’t be speaking at your funeral.”

 

I frown. “I won’t d-die from this.”

 

Jared chuckles dryly. “Oh, yes you will. This is Connor Murphy we’re talking about. He could totally kill you.”

 

I shift my weight from one foot to another (sorry, I always do that, sorry). “Maybe… this way, I could get closer to Zoe, too.”

 

“Right, because you have a big hetero crush on Connor’s sister.”

 

“T-that’s true,” I confess, staring at my feet.

 

“Yeah. It’s really obvious.”

 

“…it is?”

 

“Yeah. So, you like Zoe and Connor? You’re a player, Evan.” Jared laughs, nudging me a little bit.

 

I feel blush creeping up my cheeks, and I stammer. “I… I don’t l-like Connor! I just met him today!”

 

“So it’s love at first sight?”

 

“It’s not love at all!”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

I frown and continue staring up ahead as I walk to Jared’s car.

 

My mind telling me not to trust Connor, but my heart telling me yes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan gets mixed signals about the Murphy siblings, and no one seems to like the idea of hanging out with them. Buttons are pushed and retorts are passed.

**Evan**

This was a newfound feeling.

 

It’s like the encounter with the Murphy siblings warped my mind. All my brain is clouded with is Murphy, Murphy, Murphy. For some reason, Zoe and Connor can’t get off my mind. It was somehow like meeting them changed everything, in a way. It was like a rubber band snapped against my mind, triggering this weird sensation.

 

Because of this new distraction, my eyes keep floating down to the ground. For once, I am not scared of being around others. I feel free, somehow. I’ve escaped the bonds of these strings wrapped against my arms.

 

But all good things must come to an end.

 

_

 

“Hello? Evan.”

 

I gasp and stare back up at Jared, who was squinting at me as if there was something on my face.

 

“What?” I mumble, shaking my head and bouncing a little bit on my feet.

 

“You keep zoning out. Too busy thinking of how your name would look scribbled all over Zoe’s noteb – “

 

I exhale sharply, lifting my head up quickly. “And we’ll stop there, Jared.”

 

Jared laughs, continuing to stroll forward along the concrete footpath. Yet, there is something in his voice. Uneasiness? Worry?

 

Whatever it was, it was there for a reason.

 

Deciding to not prod any deeper, I decide to change the topic, my cheeks brightly aflame.

 

“Why do you always assume I’m in so in love with Zoe Murphy? Why do you assume she’s all I think about 24/7?” I ask out of the blue, heart thudding in my chest. I mean, I know it’s really obvious I like Zoe, but just because I do doesn’t mean that she’s all my mind likes to wander to. I have other things to think about, other stuff I need to know.

 

Jared coughs a little and shrugs. His face is unreadable before he’s smirking again. “You’re telling me you _don’t_ think about her 24/7?”

 

I almost literally growl at him before I recollect myself. Breathe, Evan. Breathe.

 

“I’m not a girl-hungry guy, Jared. Stop putting me off as one.” I say, a little bit coldly.

 

“Well, you’re making the mistake of hanging out with the Murphys.” Jared retorts, avoiding my piercing gaze.

 

I feel the anger rising. “The Murphys aren’t bad, Jared! You don’t have a right to say whether they are or they aren’t!”

 

Jared glares at me. His movements are sharp, so sharp, they could cut me. “Get your head out of the clouds, Evan. Connor is a crazy weirdo with anger issues and Zoe is a self-absorbed freak!”

 

The demons.

 

They’re fully visible now.

 

“You don’t have the right to say any of that!” I scream out, before spinning on my heel and running away, feet thudding on gravel.

 

Where am I going? I don’t know.

 

Do I care? I don’t know.

 

What is Jared going to do about this? I don’t know that, either.

 

_

 

I’ve been running for a while now, but I’m getting tired now.

 

I stop running.

 

I know I’m nearing the school, because this is the path I walk down every day. With Jared.

 

Jared.

 

I don’t know what to think of him anymore. He always seemed like a nice guy. I’d like to consider him a friend. But when I started mentioning Connor, he just seemed… skeptical about it all.

 

What do people see in Connor that makes him so dangerous?

 

He may be different, but we all are. If he has anger issues, it’s something you can’t strip from him. It’s just who he is. He should embrace that.

 

But of course, rumors win the battle with reasoning. Now he is just labeled as a weird freak.

 

It’s not like I’m any different.

 

And I look to the left, and suddenly, someone is there.

 

Zoe!

 

“Hey. You walk down this path, too? How come I never see you?” Zoe questions, beautiful eyes finding mine, but I look away.

 

The butterflies rev in full force in my stomach. I cannot feel anything right now, gah. All I know is that my crush is right next to me.

 

“Oh, um… I don’t know. I’m practically always late to school. You might just go earlier than me.” I mumble, looking at my feet.

 

Zoe’s pretty face contorts into a cute little grin. “That’s great! Maybe if you go early, we can see each other and talk!”

 

And my heart is exploding, but I answer anyways because I need to seem sane in front of my crush. “Ha, yeah, great.”

 

And it’s silent for a little.

 

And I speak up. “Where’s Connor?”

 

Zoe’s grinning, pretty face morphs into one of resentment. “Yeesh. How come all the attention’s on my brother all the time?”

 

I’m taken aback, because I simply do not know how to respond. Why does Connor have such an effect on people? And on his own sister, more like.

 

“I’m… well… it’s just that he isn’t walking with you.” I say, my heart fluttering.

 

“Yeah. He’s always late. Sometimes doesn’t even bother getting up in the mornings. He’s a lazy creep who doesn’t concentrate on anything he’s supposed to do.” Zoe shrugs, but I notice she’s walking further and further away from me. I can’t lose her now!  


“Uh, what goes on at your house?” I ask, feeling a little bit embarrassed about it.

 

Oh, god. I just asked the girl of my dreams what happens at her house. What if she thinks I’m a stalker! I’ll never, ever, ever be able to live this d –

 

“Oh, nothing much. I stay in my room, my dad works on office crap, and my mom is almost always cooking.”

 

Wait.

 

She didn’t mention Connor.

 

“And Connor does…?” I prompt, looking over at Zoe. She looks as if she really doesn’t want to be here. But because I’m pretty much a bad person, I keep prodding her.

 

“Connor stays in his room. No big,” Zoe replies, tilting her head a little bit.

 

We walk in silence.

 

Then we find ourselves in front of the school.

 

“Hey, see you later,” Zoe grins, waving at me before rushing off to join her friend group.

 

I didn’t even have a chance to wave back.

 

_

 

Zoe doesn’t want anything to do with me.

 

I think my heart dropped and sank to the bottom of my stomach.

 

I’m sitting on the bench. School hasn’t started yet, so I’m just… waiting.

 

And in the distance, between all the chatting teenagers, I catch a glimpse of a tall, lanky, long-haired boy walking my way.

 

And my heart is uplifted again.

 

_

 

“My sister dissed you, didn’t she?”

 

I squeak in surprise and face Connor, who’s been sitting in the bench with me. After I saw him earlier, I waved him over.

 

“I wouldn’t say ‘dissed’…” I counter quietly, wringing my fingers with each other.

 

“Is ‘rejected’ a better one? Or ‘gave bad attitude’?”

 

A wince seeps into my throat. I don’t want to have to admit it, but Zoe did have a bit of an attitude. It was probably just who she was.

 

“She was… nice.”

 

“She probably said something bad about me, didn’t she?” Connor deadpans, mindlessly staring off into space.

 

I clear my throat awkwardly. She _did_ call him a lazy creep…

 

“She, uh, she called you a lazy creep and that you never concentrate on any given tasks.” I say very quickly, bunching my words together. My gaze instantly goes back down to my sweaty palms.

 

“Figured.” Connor growls, leaning forward, his long hair blocking my view of his face.

 

The bell rings.

 

“Bye, Evan.” Connor mumbles, giving a small wave.

 

I wave back.

 

We part ways.

 

_

 

“Evan…” Jared whines, dragging my name out. It’s lunchtime, and I’m just poking at my food, Jared next to me.

 

“What?” I grumble, not really wanting to look him in the eye. He already made me feel like utter trash, and even worse, he made Connor and Zoe _sound_ like utter trash, but they’re not utter trash! And I’m _already_ utter trash, but he didn’t need to make it so obvious!

 

“Talk to me!”

 

“I don’t want to talk to you, please, back off.” I say, wanting to sound mad, but I still end up sounding polite. Story of my life.

 

“Have it your way,” Jared caves, scooting away from me and taking a bite of his sandwich.

 

I’ve had enough of this.

 

So I go to sit with Zoe and Connor.

 

Well, Zoe’s with her friend group, and Connor is all alone at his lunch table. So, more like, I sit with Connor and hope Zoe joins us.

 

Connor flinches a little as I slide into the seat next to him.

 

“Hi,” I say meekly.

 

Connor’s face twitches a little bit. My stomach sinks, and the “what if” questions come flooding in. What if he moves to another seat? What if he doesn’t actually like me? What if, what if, what –

 

“You’re actually sitting with me?” is Connor’s disbelieving laugh. It’s an airy chuckle, but I notice something.

 

There is a flicker of hope hidden in his voice.

 

All I want to do is grab that hope and make sure if he ever needs it, he can come to me to get it.

_I want to give him hope._

 

“Yeah, of course. I c-can’t leave my friend hanging, can I?”

 

And something happens.

 

I don’t know if it was me calling him a friend, I don’t know if it was me talking to him, but something _happens_ between us.

 

It’s difficult to explain, really. It’s like, it’s like… it’s like we’ve known each other for years. It’s like I can suddenly spill all my secrets to him. It’s like I can go to him for anything.

 

As soon as I called him my friend, something just felt… right. Something clicked.

 

It’s a wonderful feeling.

 

And I look into his eyes.

 

And when I do, it’s only a second; but in that second, I see the future in his eyes. I see us becoming the best of friends and I see us with so many memories and I see us living to grow old and I see everything.

 

Everything, in that one second.

 

And I know he feels the same thing I felt.

 

Because he gives me a real, genuine smile.

 

And it’s probably the first genuine smile I have ever seen.

 

_

 

“Hiya,” Zoe says dully, sitting in the seat next to me. So now, I’m sandwiched between Connor and Zoe.

 

I notice the death glare the Murphy siblings flash to each other.

 

“So, hi, Zoe! What b-brings you here?” I ask, hoping to relieve the tension.

 

“Were your so-called friends being bitches again?” Connor suggests, just nonchalantly swearing as if it was normal in school.

 

Zoe reaches out to hit Connor in the arm, but she restrains, a look of fear crossing her face for a split second. Pulling back her hand, I look at her curiously as she takes a deep breath.

 

“No, Connor. I just got bored of the conversation’s subject.” Zoe explains, looking down at her enclosed fists like she wants to punch her brother.

 

“Why sit with us, then? I’m pretty sure Evan wouldn’t want you here.” Connor says, quite coldly in fact, picking at a French fry on his plate.

 

I open my mouth to interject, but keep it closed in fear of the Murphy siblings getting angry with me. I keep silent, fidgeting in the awkward atmosphere.

 

“Honestly, Connor, I think Evan doesn’t want a psycho like you here, either.” Zoe shoots back, turning her head sharply towards the lanky boy.

 

“ _What_?” Connor growls, starting to climb out of his seat. “ _I’m_ the psycho? _Me_?”

 

His voice is scarily becoming louder and louder. Can I please sink into the ground, away from here? I don’t like the loud…

 

“Yes, you’re the psycho!” Zoe objects, climbing out of her seat as well, teeth clenched together. “You’re beyond helpable! Who the hell punches all his therapists, the people trying to _help_ you?”

 

Other people have turned to stare at the commotion. I don’t like where this is going. I know something will happen, since Evan and Zoe are yelling at each other in a cafeteria.

 

“Wha – well, who trash talks about her boyfriend, who’s loving and supporting, behind his back? What kind of a ‘good person’ does that?” Connor retorts, slowly advancing towards Zoe, who’s standing her ground and crossing her arms.

 

“We broke up, Connor!”

 

“That doesn’t change the fact you called him ‘a fat-ass player who doesn’t know how to stop being a greedy hoe’!” Connor yells.

 

“This isn’t about my ex-boyfriend, Connor!” Zoe screams. “This is about you! You’re the worse brother ever, I don’t know how anyone puts up with you! You’re never good enough!”

 

I didn’t know who I wanted to hug more. Connor slowly deteriorated over Zoe’s last evil remark, and the hurt in his eyes shone more than his hatred did. However, Zoe was deeply affected and mortified as well.

 

Then, what happened next was such a blur.

 

Connor hits Zoe.

 

Punches, more like.

 

Hard. And right in the face.

 

And in front of the cafeteria and teachers.

 

I see no regret in Connor’s eyes, but what I do see is blood shooting like fireworks from Zoe’s nose, who is on the floor in pain.


End file.
